


The Hour After

by niffizzle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Acceptance, Canon Compliant, F/M, Like literally right after, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-War Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-08 17:37:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18628051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niffizzle/pseuds/niffizzle
Summary: The dust has barely begun to settle in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts when Hermione leaves the castle to return the Elder Wand to Dumbledore's tomb.  As soon as she gets there, though, she discovers that she is not alone.  It is only through the resulting conversation with her unexpected companion that Hermione begins to truly accept the end of the war.





	The Hour After

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning that this isn't exactly a Dramione story like the rest of my stuff. It is completely canon compliant and takes place directly (and I mean directly) following the Battle of Hogwarts, but this is my take on what could have happened immediately following the final battle and laid the groundwork for a future friendship/relationship between them. Much love as always to LightofEvolution for her help with this story!

Exhaustion weighed heavy on her eyelids as Hermione stepped over a pile of rubble and walked down the Entrance Hall out of the castle. A steady stream of adrenaline had coursed through her veins throughout the perilous night, but now that Voldemort had been defeated once and for all, the high had run out. 

In the fresh air, Hermione’s lungs felt instantly lighter, no longer surrounded by the lingering dust. The morning sun had risen higher in the sky, shining brightly as if it too had a reason to be cheerful that day. But Hermione’s head felt much more akin to a cloudy day, her mind stuck in what she hoped wouldn’t be a permanent fog.

She understood in theory that the war was over, but the reality of it hadn’t sunk in. Ever since fourth year and the rebirth of Voldemort, her whole being had been focused on reaching this exact moment. Yet as she kicked pieces of broken stone down the path leading away from the school that hundreds of witches and wizards had risked their lives to defend her and other Muggle-borns’ rights to attend, she didn’t feel the same elation that presently filled the Great Hall. It would likely hit her more in the upcoming days and weeks, but for the time being, she just wanted to carry on with her life like it had been before the war.

Hermione briefly glanced back at the castle but promptly turned away, unable to bear the sight of the crumbling facade. It was too much. Instead she directed her attention to Hagrid’s hut. She was grateful to see it intact after getting scorched by Death Eaters at the end of sixth year. When she got back to the castle, she would have to find Hagrid and ask if he’d make them tea for old time’s sake. A reminder of more innocent times. 

But that would have to wait. Right now, she had one final task.

The trees grew denser as she neared the edge of the Black Lake where the White Tomb was located. Hermione reached into her pocket to make sure she hadn’t lost either of the two wands. She clenched her fingers around the longer, infamous wand, thinking of how many lives had been cut short in pursuit of it. All that would soon be laid to rest when she returned it to Dumbledore’s grave, its last action forever being the fixing of Harry’s trusted holly wand.

As Hermione rounded the final bend of the lake and into a clearing, she noticed that she wasn’t alone.

Her eyes settled on the slumped over form, the male sitting with his head blocked by his arms propped up on his knees. While she couldn’t see his face, it was impossible to mistake him. His tall, slender build was recognisable enough, although his distinct hair would always give him away first.

She doubted he had heard her approach, too focused on his melancholy state to notice the soft movement of the grass. Perhaps she ought to give him his space, pretend like she hadn’t seen him and return the wand later, but when she took a step back, her foot connected with a twig, prompting a sharp snapping sound.

Malfoy’s head lifted slowly, his eyes barely making it over the crook of his elbow to identify the intruder of his solitude. Their eyes connected just long enough for Hermione to feel the agony of his deep grey gaze before he turned to settle his chin on top of his arms. He stared at the grave properly now, neither one of them uttering a word.

Hermione stood frozen in her spot, not bothering to remove her foot off of the branch, and eyed him curiously. It had only been an hour or so since she had last seen him, huddled between his parents in the chaos of the aftermath, his mother inspecting every part of his body to make sure that he wasn’t badly hurt. His typically perfectly pressed shirt was now soiled and torn in several places, and he had rolled his sleeves up over his elbows exposing the scratches that lined his arms. From her vantage point, she could just barely make out the edge of the blackened serpent that tainted his skin.

Perhaps he had come here to process everything that happened without the distraction of the celebration. Merlin knew he had plenty to reconsider now that his side had lost. And his choice in location couldn’t have been an accident.

“Are you going to continue to stare, or are you here for a reason, Granger?” he snarled, his voice sharp but riddled with anguish.

Hermione’s hand shifted to her back pocket and grabbed the second wand that Harry had charged her with returning. She extended the hawthorn wand. He slowly turned his head to look at it, but made no effort to grab it, simply reverting to his original position.

She didn’t know what prompted her to do so, but Hermione settled in the grass next to him, staring at the White Tomb in front of them. Maybe she was waiting for Malfoy to leave so that she could return to her original task without him asking questions, or maybe it was because her body had finally had enough with standing and needed to sit. Either way, she was now seated next to Malfoy, both of them staring silently at Dumbledore’s tomb.

It was odd to think that Malfoy hadn’t been at the funeral -- for obvious reasons, of course -- but while less than a year had passed since then, it seemed like another lifetime ago. They had known then that war was imminent and that she, Ron, and Harry wouldn’t be returning to Hogwarts in the fall. And yet, it still felt like a simpler time, one without nearly as many emotional scars.

She placed his wand in the grass between them, taking a moment to survey him. It was only then that she noticed that his nose was off-kilter.

“Would you like me to fix that?” she asked, both of them surprised by her offer.

Malfoy gave her a side-eyed glare, but it only lasted a fleeting moment. He sucked in a breath before lifting his head and turning in Hermione’s direction.

Hermione hesitated, stunned that Malfoy had actually accepted her offer. Never before had Malfoy trusted her with anything magic related, let alone his own facial features. But if Harry had been able to fake his own death and defeat Voldemort, then anything was possible that morning.

She retrieved the still unfamiliar walnut wand of Bellatrix Lestrange and cleared her throat. Meeting the wand's tip with his nose, she muttered, “ _Episkey_.”

Malfoy winced at the sudden hot then cold sensation that pulsed through his nose and then gingerly grazed its mended surface with two fingers.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, averting his attention away from her. “No one in my family had a wand, and everyone else was too busy celebrating or…”

“Mourning?”

Malfoy shifted uncomfortably. “I was going to say ‘or didn’t want to help out a Death Eater,’ but I suppose your explanation fits as well.”

They fell back into a strained silence, Hermione reminded of all the lives that had been taken that night. Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Colin, Snape…

“I can’t believe Crabbe is dead,” Malfoy mumbled, adding yet another name to the list.

Hermione considered extending her condolences, but if she was being honest, she didn’t feel the least bit sorry. If he was dumb enough to use FiendFyre, then he should have been smart enough to know the counter-curse.

Malfoy released a heavy sigh, his vision still directed at the White Tomb. “It just doesn’t feel real, you know?”

She weakly nodded, agreeing with Malfoy for perhaps the first time in her life. No. None of it felt real.

The early May breeze swept over them as the morning sun began to shine brighter. Chirping whistled from within the trees, oblivious to the turmoil that had wreaked havoc no more than a few thousand feet away while they had slept. While Hermione and Malfoy were stuck processing, the outside world was continuing just the same.

“Why’d you guys do it?”

Hermione’s head tilted in his direction and was surprised to find that he was actually looking at her this time. “Do what?”

Malfoy averted his gaze again, fidgeting with the rolled up cuff of his sleeve. “Come back for me and Goyle.”

There was a tight squeeze in her stomach, remembering the scene in the Room of Requirement, the deadly flames tickling their feet, threatening to swallow them whole.

“That was Harry’s decision, not mine,” she faintly answered.

“And am I correct to assume it was one of you who Stunned that Death Eater that was trying to block me from entering the Entrance Hall?”

“Also Harry.”

Malfoy scoffed. “ _Saint Potter.”_

A small smile appeared on her lips. “But it was Ron who punched you and broke your nose.”

“Of course it was,” he groaned.

Silence fell upon them once more, and Hermione started to consider that she really ought to head back to the castle. She could always return the Elder Wand later, maybe with Ron and Harry before going to Hagrid’s, but the movement next to her kept her in her place.

Malfoy picked up his wand, running his finger over the hawthorn wood, holding his own wand for the first time in several weeks. “A tad ironic that it was my wand that killed the Dark Lord, when I was the one who couldn’t kill Dumbledore, huh?”

The weight of his words lingered in the air.

“Is that a bad thing?” Hermione eventually mustered.

Malfoy didn’t answer.

Yet while no more words escaped his lips, she could see his response in his pained gaze and hunched shoulders. He was just as relieved as she was that the war was over.

And for the first time, Hermione saw him for what he truly was -- a boy who had been pressured and coerced into actions that he had wanted no part in. Harry had told them that Malfoy had lowered his wand that fateful night on the Astronomy Tower, that he didn’t want to kill Dumbledore. He had been sucked into the war just like the rest of them had. Only he had been forced to fight for the other side.

She pushed her hands against the grass and was already on her feet to return to the castle when Malfoy spoke once more.

“I’m sorry about Fred,” he muttered, just barely louder than a whisper. “He was… funny.”

With those final words, Malfoy began to head back to the castle, leaving Hermione with tears starting to well in her eyes. He had nearly disappeared behind the trees and around the bend of the lake when Hermione ran after him, curiosity taking control of her actions.

“And why did _you_ do it?” she asked, echoing the question he had asked her a few minutes prior. “Why did you say you didn’t recognise Harry at your manor?”

A heavy swallowed travelled down his throat. “Because believe it or not, I don’t actually hate him. Or Weasley. Or even you for that matter. It was different when we were at school, but this was no longer a childish torment. This was war. And I didn’t want to be responsible for any of your deaths.”

He glanced out at the ripples of waves that glistened in the sunlight while Hermione merely blinked at him, still taking in Malfoy’s confession. When he reverted his attention back to Hermione, he stared deep into her eyes.

“This is just the first of the many apologies I will be issuing between now and the end of my days, but I’m sorry, Granger. For more than I’ll ever be able to put into words. You’re a talented witch, and I accept that now.”

The sincerity of his sentiment spread through her, leaving a tingle of warmth and pride long after Malfoy had turned from her and faded from sight. As she continued to stand there, listening to the awakening nature as she further digested Malfoy’s words, a new feeling began to settle in her heart.

_Peace._

The war was over. And of all the bigoted, pureblooded wizards in the world, _Draco Malfoy_ had apologised and acknowledged her as his equal.

After several more minutes, Hermione forced herself to move and return to her original task. She took hold of her wand, cracked open the tomb, and closed her eyes as she pushed the cover open to avoid seeing Dumbledore’s decaying form. She gently laid the wand beside him and backed away until his body would no longer be in sight. She swooshed her wand again and the marble fused back together, the Elder Wand returned to its proper resting place.

As she returned to the front steps of the castle, Hermione took in a final deep breath of the surrounding fresh air before rejoining the confusing mixture of celebration and mourning that awaited her in the Great Hall.

Today marked the end of the official strife, the start of a new era for Wizarding Britain. And while she was not naive enough to believe that everything would now be fixed, her conversation with Malfoy gave her hope that some of those twisted biases could one day change.

The war was over, but the recovery was just beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please take a moment to let me know what you think :)


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